‘It was a Wednesday evening and Jennifer, my wife, was going to meet a client in the West End. Kensington Gate. She left around six and she never came back. I’d fallen asleep maybe about eleven and when I woke she still wasn’t home. I called her mobile but didn’t get an answer. I wasn’t pleased. In fact I was annoyed, more annoyed than worried. I went back to sleep and in the morning she still wasn’t there. I called her mobile again but got no answer. I had to go to the office and gave it till lunchtime before I called the police. I’d tried to call her another three times and got nothing. Staying out late wasn’t unusual but overnight, without at least a text message, she’d never done that.’

‘Who was the client she was going to see?’

‘I don’t know. She’d told me it was Kensington Gate and that it was potentially a big job. If she told me the name I didn’t listen or didn’t remember. I checked her diary and she didn’t have it listed.’

Narey returned to the conversation. ‘Did your wife regularly go to meet clients in the evening, Mr Cairns?’

‘Yes. It was usually easier. People work during the day so she’d make herself available at a time that suited them. And she would obviously need to see the space that they wanted her to work with.’

‘Do you have a list of her clients?’

‘Yes, but none of them are in Kensington Gate. I checked and your colleagues checked. The old Odeon? I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do we, Mr Cairns. But we will. How was your wife getting to Kensington Gate? Did she drive or take a taxi?’

‘She drove. I’ve given her car details to the police but it has never turned up. Her phone stopped responding. I tried to track it but the signal was dead or had been switched off. I think your colleagues thought she had just left me but I knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t take any clothes and her bank card wasn’t used.’

‘Tell us about your wife if you can, Mr Cairns. Anything at all that will give us a picture of who she was and what might have happened to her. Her job, close friends, hobbies, anything you can think of.’

His eyes flashed angrily at her and Narey knew it was her referring to the man’s wife in the past tense that had maddened him. She’d seen it before and silently cursed herself for doing it.

‘Jennifer had her own business. Interior designer. Fashioning homes for people who are either too fucking lazy or clueless to do it for themselves. She’d been doing it for five years and did well. She worked hard.’

‘And friends?’

‘She had quite a few. The police spoke to most of them after I reported her missing. I assume they’ll still have the list I gave them.’

‘All female friends or male friends too?’

‘What do you mean? We had many friends who were couples so the answer is both. What are you suggesting?’

‘Nothing, Mr Cairns. I’m just trying to get a picture of your wife’s social scene, establish anyone she would have interacted with. I’ll get a copy of that list from my colleagues. This is a difficult question, I know, particularly in the circumstances, but would you say your wife was happy?’

The man’s eyes darkened and he snapped at her. ‘Happy? How can you ask that?’ He glared at her then gulped at his whisky before continuing. ‘Yes I would say she was happy. We had our ups and downs. Who doesn’t? But our marriage was fine.’

‘You didn’t have any children?’

Another glare. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but no. We tried but it didn’t happen. I was probably keener than she was but . . .’ His voice trailed off sadly.

‘What other aspects of your wife’s life can you tell us about? Groups or organizations she might have been involved with, people she knew. Anything that might help.’

He banged his glass down on the table in front of him and splashes of whisky leaped into the air and onto the wooden surface. ‘Christ. I’ve already . . . Okay, okay. She had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. She was popular, lively, always on the go. She did charity work, she spent time in galleries, socialized with neighbours. We’d eat out quite a lot, either dinners with mutual clients, sometimes her accountant or with my partner David McCormack. It’s a long list and I’ve already given it to the bloody police.’

She could see he was unravelling and just getting angrier. Any current thoughts weren’t going to be much help. One last question, a shot in the dark, then she’d let him be for now.

‘Mr Cairns, has your company done any work for a Saturn Property? You’re in related businesses.’

He paused, obviously wondering what the relevance was. ‘I know of them. I think we’ve met the directors at networking events.’

‘Would it be a Mark Singleton that you’ve met?’

‘Maybe. It was at those part-business, part-social type things. I can’t remember. Why? Is it important?’

‘Probably not. Okay, I think we should leave it there for today. I’m sorry if I’ve made any of this difficult for you. I can only imagine what you’re going through.’

‘Can you?’

‘We’ll arrange for a Family Liaison officer to call and they will make sure you are kept up to date with every aspect of the investigation. And we’ll arrange for you to see your wife and allow you to formally identify her when you are ready.’

‘I’m ready now.’

‘That’s not possible, sir. Not just yet.’

‘I’m ready now!’

‘We’ll let you know when that can be done. We’re as keen as you are to—’

‘I doubt that. I really do. Let me know as soon as possible.’

‘I will, sir. I promise you.’

‘No. I only need you to promise me one thing. Do you think you can do that?’

She’d never make the promise he wanted. She couldn’t do it because she couldn’t be certain it could be done. She’d do the next best thing.

‘Mr Cairns, I promise you we will do everything we possibly can to make sure that the person who killed your wife will be caught and punished.’

Chapter 25

It had been a long, long day but it couldn’t be over. Not just yet. Much as she would have loved to just fall asleep or, better still, drive over to Tony’s for some physical therapy, she still had work to do. She was at home in Highburgh Road and in bed but she was online and on the case.

Whether it was a good idea or not, she’d put all her eggs in the basket marked urbexing. Now she had to find out what she was actually talking about. The little knowledge she had came from the brief mention that Danny had made of it.

They like to go places they shouldn’t - that’s what he’d said. Then she remembered. He’d also said he knew someone that used to do it.

She had her iPad open at the website address Maxwell had given her but now it struck her that hearing it from someone who actually did the thing would be more helpful.

He answered after half a dozen rings. She knew he’d be working and probably couldn’t hear it over the noise of the taxi-rank queue.

‘Hey, Rachel. What can I do for you?’

She could hear cars going by and the chatter of a number of voices. Someone not too far away was singing ‘Flower Of Scotland’. She’d be lucky to get long with him so she got straight to the point.

‘Danny, when we spoke the other day, you said you knew someone who urbexed. Do you think he would talk to me?’

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

‘I don’t think so, hen. He doesn’t do it any more and I think he wants to put it behind him.’

‘Could you ask him, Danny? It’s important.’